To Love My Darkness
by DarkAngel10003
Summary: He felt his entire being still as the other drew still closer, felt his heart rate jump as slender fingertips cupped his face, felt something inside twist and melt as his other slid closer to him. And, for the second time, his darkness kissed him.
1. NTxT

**To Love My Darkness**

Warnings:Is Rated M for adult situations, like heavy kissing and blood. Yaoi between Nega Timmy and Timmy. And a little bit of angst Hope yall like it anyway. But be warned this fic is not for children! I have a sick mind and this fic is proof that Im not afraid to use it!xD

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He'd run all the way home.

His lungs were bursting and his legs ached and his heart hammered wildly in his chest.

But still - still...

Timmy darted through the doorway, shouted a meaningless greeting to his parents, and pelted up the stairs to his room.

He flung open the door, slammed it shut just as quickly, and flung his backpack into the corner. Only then did he look up to meet the accusing eyes of the other half of his soul.

Oh God, he thought frantically, How do I explain this?

/Timmy.../ it was not quite the greeting he expected. Low-voiced, even, trembling with some suppressed emotion. And he was angry. Very, very angry. Of course - had Nega done something similar, he himself would be furious.

"I..." he flailed helplessly. He hadn't had a plan when he had come barging in here, only the vaguest of ideas that if he returned to his other's side, everything would be all right.

"You what?" Nega Timmy bit out, the power around him swirling in agitation. It made his skin prickle.

Timmy bit his lip, feeling his throat choke up. /I didn't mean... I'm so confused... I.../ he swallowed nervously, "It's not like... she's..."

The other's expression grew darker still; the feeling in the air crackling like electricity on his skin as his other stalked forward. Timmy slunk back against the wall, unconsciously afraid - his other would never hurt him, but others might not be so lucky...

He gulped in a breath of precious air and scrambled to find the words that would calm his other's fiery temper. "I... didn't mean for you to think... that I... that... that..."

/That what?/

The pain inherent in the words hit him like a sucker-punch to the stomach. He staggered, gaze fixed blankly on the floor. I hurt his feelings? Idiot! Of course I hurt him! Who kissed who last night?

So he blurted the only thing he could manage. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you! You're the most important thing in the world to me, don't you know that? I'm sorry..."

And abruptly, the power was gone.

He glanced up and saw the softest look he had ever seen cross the Nega's face. And his breath froze in his throat. My God, he thought dazedly, He's beautiful.

Nega Timmy crossed the room in a few brisk strides, the soft, sleepy-eyed expression giving way to something that Timmy himself couldn't understand.

He felt his entire being still as the other drew still closer, felt his heart rate jump as slender fingertips cupped his face, felt something inside twist and melt as his other slid closer to him.

And, for the second time, his darkness kissed him.

And, as before, all else was drowned in sweet urgency.

His body grew tense and trembling beneath his searching hands, his lips hesitantly parting beneath an intrusive tongue. Did he want this? To risk so much... The sudden pressure of arms settling around him startled him, and he almost squeaked as overwhelming warmth shot through his body.

Thrust up against the wall of his bedroom, involuntary whimpers escaping his throat. Had he imagined that this would happen?

He quivered as the other pulled him closer, stroked his thighs and back, coaxed him into yielding.

Nudged into responding, his mouth falling open shyly, hunger and wetness all too suddenly apparent. Spice and slippery heat, the overwhelming taste nearly too delicious to comprehend.

His hands came up of their own accord and sank into onyx colored hair.

Strong warmth shifting against him, pressing so close, so tight, that he couldn't think anymore.

God, but it felt good.

Should it?

He gave a helpless mewl of confusion. The other purred lowly, the sound dark and hungry, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. His head tilted back as the softly explorative kiss deepened, growing more demanding, more probing. Slender fingers slid teasingly down his side, curved playfully under his shirt, and he whimpered again at the shock of skin-on-skin contact.

Impulsively, he crushed himself against the other. A growl then, teasing fingers growing bolder, the soft touches melting into heavy caresses. He shuddered, almost crying with pleasure as a strong leg was thrust between his, as long arms slid around his waist, as he wrapped his arms around the other's neck and pulled himself farther up against a body stronger and larger than his own.

Closer still.

The other nudged him gently as their lips parted, softly encouraging - what? His large eyes fluttered open in confusion as gentle hands skimmed over his shoulders, pushing the school coat carelessly off his shoulders. Dark eyes regarded him possessively, their color deepened by passion, scarlet so dark it was nearly black.

Oh God, what was he doing? This wasn't right!

Why, then, did he wrap his fingers around the chain that circled the other's neck? Why did he lean into his warmth like a starving thing?

Why, oh why, did he kiss him again?

Don't do it! he warned himself, You'll break your own heart!

...but hadn't he done that already? A day spent without a word - a day spent without warmth pooling in his stomach, without a soft voice whispering in his mind, a day spent without him - God, had he been so distracted that he was able to ignore the wrenching ache in his chest?

He couldn't keep back the groan as curious hands started to slide everywhere, couldn't keep back the sudden urge to wrap himself into the other, couldn't keep back his desperation as he abruptly took control of the kiss.

And the other made a sound, a sensual, throaty moan that made his whole body tingle. Want? Did he - Could he? Possibly? ...oh God, yes. Heat enflaming his senses, the strength of the lean body he clung to, the silken mental caress that slid down their link, a thousand times more exotic than he had ever dared to dream -

Frozen before. Melting now. Drowning.

/Never leave me?/ he pleaded softly as the warm mouth left his own and traveled down his throat, sharp vampiric fangs gliding across the sensitive skin.

The answer, quick and decisive and as instantly reassuring as the strength of the arms around him. /Never./

A single bite. Long fangs bit down breaking the skin easily, blood flowing out of the light and into the mouth of the darkness. Moans, louder now, came from both. His blood was now the essence that his darkness lived for. He heard the other suck at the red substance and he couldn't help but gasp as a new found level of pleasure built up in his nerves making his mind go hazy.

Then before he thought he would die from pleasure, the soft lips left his neck and replaced them back onto the boys. He opened his mouth without hesitation for his darkness, tasting his own salty blood on the others tongue. Much gentler, this parting, lips brushing faintly over his eyelashes, his nose, butterfly kisses fluttering over his flushed skin. Slim hands tender as they threaded through his hair.

He buried his face against his darkness' neck, trying and failing to stifle the tears. It felt so right...

Any other would have panicked, fearing the worst.

But no. What else but perfect understanding?

They slid down to the floor, he curled up on the other's lap, legs wrapped around his waist. Gentleness flowed through his mind like a soothing balm, the other's voice hushed as he mumbled nonsense against his ear, the shelter of his body a comfort more profound than words could say.

He didn't know how long they spent that way, coiled together on the ground, ensconced in such dreamlike comfort it seemed unreal.

But he was real.

He was real, and he had promised to stay that way forever. Hadn't he?

The grip around his middle loosened as he pulled back, tilting his head up to meet the solemn gaze of the other half of his soul.

Usually so cold, so blank, so aloof.

Not so with him. No, not cold - those beautiful crimson eyes swirled with concern and warmth, exquisitely brilliant and clear. Something no one, no one else, had ever seen.

Oh God, he thought, suddenly, terribly afraid. Oh God, I think I love him.

Those gorgeous eyes widened in worry as he picked up on the fear, but not the source. /Timmy?/

He shook his head in reply, too stunned to think clearly. /I... I... please, it's not you, I just... I'm just.../

Stomach-clenching fear abruptly slammed into him, leaving him gasping for breath. But - it wasn't his own? Idiot! he screamed at himself, he thinks - he thinks -

/No! No!/ he plastered himself against his darkness' chest, slender fingers digging harshly into his back. /No, no, I'm sorry, please, it's not you, it's not you! I don't want you to go, I want to stay with you, please? Please stay! I can't live without you, please, please, I need you!/ he babbled frantically, sobbing anew into his shoulder.

Relief. Flooding heavily through him, overwhelming in the heady rush of need that raced in its wake.

He lifted his head, met those eyes again, and found himself lost in another embrace. Fierceness was no stranger to his other, and he did not hesitate to use it against a soul gentler than his own.

He yielded instantly to the kiss, starving and possessive and completely overwhelming. So warm... he thought dazedly, responding eagerly to the sleek touch of lips on his skin. He yielded yet again when the other eased him gently to the ground. It just felt so good... hot and sweet and rough and... He was just getting used to the strangely wonderful feeling of being pinned beneath the strangely comfortable body of his other half when two words shattered his world.

"Timmy! Dinner!"

The blinding heat froze cold.

He blinked in consternation up at eyes that flashed ruby with equal parts surprise and annoyance. His other was not happy about this turn of events. Come to think of it, he wasn't very pleased about it himself.

Dinner? Who needed food? Who needed anything but this? God, how long had he gone on without it? How had he survived?

"Timmy!"

He drew in a shuddering breath. "I... I should..." he licked his lips, noticing with an inward shiver how other's eyes darkened at the motion, "s-should..."

"Should go eat?" his darkness finished for him, breath warm against his parted lips, and oh God it was so hard not to lean upwards and claim that sensual mouth, so hard to resist burying himself in the other's warmth, so hard to untangle his mind from the pleasant haze that they had created.

"Y-yeah..."

His other pulled himself away with a groan, and the sudden loss of contact almost made him burst into tears anew.

"No!" he cried instantly, scrambling forwards to latch onto him again.

A rush of desire and darkness, sharp and hungry. He nuzzled his lips against Nega's throat, was rewarded with a low purr. Letting go - he hadn't expected it to be this hard.

/I don't need to go.../ he said silently, loathing the thought of a single moment without his darkness.

He could feel his other's hesitation mingling with the nearly overwhelming desire to stay plastered together.

Finally, /But you do need sustenance.../

At first he tried to argue but then found he couldn't, his darkness had disappeared but he felt his presence in his mind. /Go, Timmy. Do not worry, I shall always be by your side.../

So he ran downstairs, already regretting his decision. His parents were waiting for him, sitting down at the table.

Afterwards, he cleaned up expeditiously, turned down watching TV with his weak excuse of "Homework! Tons! Teachers are evil!" and managed to get back up to their bedroom with less trouble than either expected.

Once back, Nega Timmy reappeared, they looked at the bed, at each other, and flushed.

Oh God, I don't even know what I feel for him, I can't just - I mean, I won't! Unless he wants me to - not that it would be a bad thing, but - it's too fast, right? I mean, shouldn't he - I don't know!

He stared at his darkness, who regarded him with a predatory look lurking in his eyes. It made his insides do flips.

Does he love me?

Do I love him?

Soft warmth wrapped around him, and he forgot all else but the dark, gentle sweetness of the mind that embraced his own in an intimate caress.

Timmy woke hours later, drowsy and pleased, curled into his arms.

He blinked in shock as he realized their position. Tangled around his other half... in his bed. Nega must have put them both to bed after they had... well... cuddled and talked. For hours. He would have blushed, but the darkness was merciful, and the other was asleep, long lashes sooty against his skin, lips parted gently, arms firmly wrapped around his middle.

He let a curious hand trace up the skin that was a few shades darker than his own. Soft and smooth - like warm silk under his fingertips.

Beautiful. So beautiful.

So terrible. He bit his lip, unnerved. Certainly he trusted him more than any other - of course he believed everything he said. Nega Timmy was not the type to lie, and would never do anything to hurt him. But...

Those hands that had made his every nerve sing, those hands that had caressed his skin and sent fire racing down his body - how bloodstained were they?

He winced. Why deny it? Awful. But then, hadn't he had a reason? He really didn't know... it was so strange, so peculiar, so incredibly odd...

But perfect.

Breathtakingly so.

Tears stung his eyes again, but he refused to let them fall.

Accepting his gentleness, his protection, and his strength - it meant accepting his power and all that it entailed. He needed all of him. That darkness - that passion - he needed it.

He let his fingers trail over the fine features, so like and unlike his own.

"I think I love you," he whispered into the silence of the night.

And the demonic angel beneath him smiled softly in his sleep.

Timmy settled down again, tugging the blankets over their tangled forms. Nega hadn't even bothered to change them out of their clothes.

He snuggled against his side, feeling the unconscious embrace, the sensation both physical and mental, a silent welcome back to a place that he should never have left.

/Do you love me?/ he dared to whisper, safe in the knowledge that his other was out wandering dreamland.

Timmy thought he felt some sleepy acknowledgement, but wasn't certain.

But for now - he needed to sleep.

It was warm, and he was more content than he could ever remember being.

...sleep now.


	2. Timmy

They don't understand.

It's all right.

I never expected them to.

Sometimes I hardly understand it myself.

But I can't let go. I won't. Maybe I'm being selfish, and maybe I'm crazy, but nothing on heaven or earth is going to make me stop.

It sounds silly, I'm sure, and maybe I'm just a confused little boy who doesn't know what he wants. I don't know.

But it only feels that way sometimes.

At other times it makes me want to laugh and dance and sing and run screaming through the streets.

Why does it matter, anyway?

There's no escaping it, and I don't want to.

It's not that I enjoy harming others - I do my best to do the exact opposite! I can't help it, not really - I just... It just happens, sometimes... I don't mean it to, but...

It's not me, it's him.

God, but that sounds trite.

Maybe it is.

Maybe I am.

Maybe we are, but it doesn't feel that way.

No, this is overwhelming and addictive and completely insane. But trite? Never.

I don't know when it started - maybe I've felt this way all of my life and never known it. Or maybe it's just over the past few months that I began to understand. Either way, it's been so much, so fast, that sometimes I feel drowned.

But whoever said drowning was a bad thing?

It's just... so easy - sinfully easy. Beautifully easy.

Life means nothing until you melt yourself into another person, wrap yourself around their everything, know every breath and heartbeat and tear, taste what they do, feel what they feel, live and survive and simply be as one.

It's absolutely delicious.

I don't care what they think. He's not cold, he's not dead, and he's not horrible.

He feels - he feels so much he holds it back, keeps it under iron control. He told me once about the nightmares of being separated from me.

And during those times, I can feel what he's been keeping locked up.

He isn't dead - how could anyone be dead, and yet so alive? The way he is, the way we are - it's shining and brilliant and vibrant, gleaming and flaming and coldly calculating. Not dead - far, far from it. He's so much more alive than any other person I know...

He isn't horrible. He's different and he's frightening and he's calm and manipulative, but he isn't horrible. He's cruel and harsh and vicious and ruthless - but he isn't horrible.

No one horrible could kiss me like that.

Not like the way he first kissed me, that confusing night before I agreed to take out Tootie. Not while we were snacking on popcorn and watching a horrible B-movie. Not something hungry and searching and salty and hot and desperate. Not while he held me as though I would break under his gentle fingertips, not while I could feel our heartbeats pounding against each other, not while I could taste fear and desire and hope and need. Not something so soft and yearning that it nearly made me cry. Not something that coaxed a blush onto his suddenly shy features, not something that darkened his eyes into pools of bloody crimson.

He took my breath away with only a single touch, and God help me but I never want it back.

Was it any wonder that I spent the night wondering and being terrified and feeling awkwardly shy?

I don't think so.

I was frightened. I can admit that now.

Frightened of the intensity of the feeling, frightened because I knew he felt the same, frightened because we were bound together for eternity and I didn't want to do anything that might cause our fragile relationship to splinter.

And besides, a guy had just stolen my first kiss. A very attractive guy, yes, but a guy nonetheless. It was a little unsettling to realize that, while I considered myself straight, I somehow managed to wind up with another guy's tongue stuck down my throat. And I liked it. A lot.

Which was probably why I jumped at the chance to eat lunch with Tootie, shamed as I am now to admit it.

She was cute and sweet and friendly. The type of girl anyone could fall in love with. We talked about everything and nothing, and for a while, I managed to forget all about the unsettling incident of the night before. She was just that kind of girl, the one who when she smiles makes the world a better place.

Then my friends ganged up on me, mussed my hair, and attempted to tease me to death. I love them dearly, but...

But that made me think of someone else who I held very dear to my heart, who was my heart, and I almost burst into tears on the spot.

I managed to stumble home, mutter a greeting to grandpa, and retreat into my room. I came face-to-face with my dark side, bristling with rage and jealousy, danger and power rolling off of him in waves.

Logically, we should have had a screaming match, felt awful about it, and made up several hours later.

How I wound up making out with him is still something of a mystery to me. But God, the feel of his hands on my skin, the roughness of his kisses, the way we melded together - the urgency, the burning desire... it's too strange, too incredible to even describe.

And somewhere in the swirl of dizzying emotion I kept wondering whether or not he loved me. He certainly didn't love anyone else, and most certainly would never have a casual fling. He's just not that kind of person.

And I had until then been a bit wary - I am a teenage guy, and we do not take threats to our masculinity lightly.

If frenching another guy on multiple occasions isn't a threat to manliness, I don't know what is.

But it didn't seem to matter to either of us.

He tastes of heat and power and spring rain.

And on the next day, I had lunch with her again. Silly me.

He was infuriated.

I won't lie and say he isn't dangerous.

He is.

I know that. He's my darkness. I know the ease with which his power flows; I know how little he thinks about it when he kills. I know. I love him anyway.

She was cute and sweet and gentle.

He was gorgeous and harsh and frigid.

I had no choice but to choose him.

I'm glad I did.

He's everything. I love him. And, amazingly, he loves me!

I discovered it that night, that wonderful, wonderful night when I did what I should not have done with the person I should not have done it with.

But it's so easy when you know another's soul, so easy when you can feel his every breath, so easy when you know he's just as hungry as you are.

I don't know when or how I fell for him, but my fate was sealed in the midst of passion and desire, when we were wrapped so thoroughly in one another that neither of us knew what it was to be separate. When I was crushed in his embrace, when I had stolen yet another bruising kiss, when his body was warm and heavy on top of me - lost somewhere in that intoxicating haze lay the words that finished me off.

/You belong to me./

Body and soul - one. Heart and mind - one. He absolutely refuses to share me with anyone. Friends and family - what could compare to self? I still love them, still manage to wrench myself away enough to have an outside life - but still...

I might be drowning.

We both might be drowning.

We might be drifting away.

It doesn't matter.

I need him. I love him. He's mine.

He's frightening and cold and malicious. He's possessive - very, very possessive. Jealous - violently. I can't condone his actions, but I can't condemn them. I accept them.

...I am sorry about Tootie. I am. But he...

He's so jealous it's almost scary. If I didn't know that he would never go against my wishes, I would be frightened.

But he loves me just as desperately as I love him.

And that's all that matters.

I don't care what they think. I don't care what they say.

They don't live like this. They don't feel like this. They don't ache like this, they don't love like this, they don't need like this.

They don't understand. They'll never understand.

Never.


	3. Cosmo

They think I don't know.

Ridiculous.

How could I not know?

He's my godchild. A precious gift, a beautiful treasure, one that I am honored to have. He's such a sweet, gentle child, kinder and softer than this world should permit. No one so delicate could survive in this world alone.

But then, there's his other.

And damn the world should it harm him at all.

I suppose that stupid wish began it - or did it really? No, of course not... Timmy has always been a strange one, too clever and delicate by half, too vulnerable yet unshakably strong.

When he was growing up, I think he felt it too. Few friends - despite all of my trying. No sports - he preferred solitude with his video games and comics. Quiet tranquillity and softness suited one such as he far better than anything else.

Beautiful, blank, and empty. Little passion to coax his shy soul into flame.

Then that stupid wish.

"I wish I have to do the exact opposite of what my parents tell me!"

To be cliché, everything changed.

I don't know how it happened. I don't know why it happened.

I thought he was gone, after the wish had taken its toll. But...

But then one day, years after that, I met again the boy who was not my godson, but who held the missing half of his soul.

Timmy was so nervous about it, his form flickering from the cool-eyed regality of this familiar stranger back to the fidgeting godson that I knew.

I learned much that day.

I wish I could forget much of that day.

There are some things about this other of his that I despise with all my heart.

It was with a subdued voice and shaking fingertips that he first spoke of those unfortunates this Nega had left in his wake, all in the name of my Timmy. At the time, he was still wary, still a little bit afraid of the overwhelming presence of his own personal demon.

Now, of course, absolute adoration and trust has replaced any lingering doubt. Even though he hasn't stopped - as long as someone threatens Timmy, his darkness will be there, taking his unholy vengeance.

But Timmy doesn't mind.

And somehow, throughout it all, he remains innocent. Purity shines like a beacon in his eyes, gentleness a precious gift that he bestows upon all who cross his path.

That path seems to be winding slowly back upon itself as of late.

I'm still not sure what to make of it. It can't be healthy, at least, and I've always worried about Timmy being alone.

He's never alone now.

It's disturbing - he's only sixteen, and his other is just the same - though he looks somewhat older. He acts older than seventeen. A very cold and mature seventeen, but still no more than a boy.

And young boys have hormones to deal with. I definitely did not expect to swim outside the underwater castle into the bedroom to see my Timmy sitting on the lap of his darker side, very busily involved in kissing him senseless. Or maybe it was the other way around. I really couldn't tell who was the one moaning. But when Nega's lips left his mouth and started to slide down his throat... and Timmy made a very odd mewling sound and twisted his body against his other's, and suddenly his darkness' hands were going places no hands had any right to be...

My first instinct was to throttle that good for nothing...

Then sanity regained its place in my mind, and I swam back into the castle very quickly, went back to my bedroom, and tried to prevent what felt like an imminent heart attack.

My innocent, sweet, gentle godchild was passionately liplocked with a homicidal maniac.

I think I went a little crazy with that revelation.

Truth be told, I don't really remember that night very well. All I recall is a haze of rage settling over me that obliterated all else from my mind. And so, that night, I took it upon myself to confront Nega.

I would have.

I would.

But when I crept into Timmy's room in the middle of the night, he was there. Sound asleep with his face buried in Timmy's hair, lean arms tangled around his waist. My godson, looking so much younger than his years, lay on his side, cuddled up in the possessive grasp of his darkness, innocent and sweet and perfect. They're beautiful together. The moonlight eased away the harshness of the elder's expression, and for a moment I saw Timmy when I looked at Nega Timmy.

A maniac. A murderer. A spirit. Darkness.

The one person the child of my heart, my life and joy, loved above all else.

And I couldn't.

I couldn't hurt him.

Amazingly, the innocence and glowing purity still remain, despite what I am certain is the heavy physical involvement resulting from a bond like theirs. Even casually, when they're at home, they touch almost constantly.

They aren't so discreet as they think. They try to hide it, but you can't escape the notice of someone who's cared for you since you were a child. The playful little nudges, the lazy-eyed looks, the glazed expressions when they whisper to one another in the silence of their shared consciousness - it goes beyond creepy.

It's a wonder no one notices it, really.

Just before Timmy dashes off to school with his friends, they curl themselves up in a corner where they think I can't see them and exchange goodbye kisses, though neither ever truly leaves the other.

When Timmy comes home, he's always a little bit flushed, and always in the company of his darkness. I find it hard to believe that I'm the only one who has noticed that they hold hands when they walk together.

When they stay at home, they sit together and pour over gaming magazines, videos and tease each other, and bump up against each other whenever the opportunity presents itself. And as of late, my Timmy has taken to sitting on his other's lap instead of on furniture.

When Timmy does his homework, he works intently at his desk while Nega dozes on his bed, occasionally offering an insight, occasionally muttering disparaging things about the degradation of modern society. This, more often than not, leads to pillow fights that chase all the way around the house, up and down the stairs.

When the work is done, they watch tv, talk, read, or go out with their friends. If they stay at home, Timmy inevitably winds up wrapped in his other's arms, occasionally nuzzling against him and exchanging a soft kiss or three when they think I'm not looking.

And when they do go out, it's only through coaxing and pleading that Nega shows his face to the world.

Timmy's friends always seem a little bit wary around Nega, and frankly I can't blame them. I am a little bit uneasy around him, even though I haven't ever really seen what he can do. But I have seen him doing things he should not with the one person in the world someone like him should not be anywhere around, and it almost makes me sick.

Timmy's still a young boy. He should be shy, sweet, and dating equally shy and sweet young girls. He should go to dances and parties and do things with kids his age. But instead all he can see is a colder, older version of himself, and that's all he wants to see.

I can admit that the boy is beautiful enough to draw plenty of attention. Even Timmy has often been accosted by girls offering phone numbers. Physical attraction to a near-mirror image of yourself, however, borders on narcissistic.

The mirror is imperfect, of course. Timmy, bless his heart, got all the unfortunate short genes from his mother side of the family. Nega doesn't fare much better, but he towers a clean foot over Timmy. The shape of the face is different, and Nega still retains the hint of a desert-gifted tan, but the true difference lies in the eyes.

Timmy has eyes like the sea, varying shades of sapphire and azule, wide and innocent and quietly beautiful. His other does not. If Timmy's eyes are the softness of the sea, Nega's are the things that lurk in the storms. His eyes flash crimson, ranging from suspicious scarlet to a blood-red fury. The only time they soften is when they rest on my godson. In those moments subtle hints of violet shine through, easing the harshness of unforgiving ruby into something dark and hungry and softly frightening.

Timmy doesn't see it that way. He thinks his other's eyes are beautiful. And why not? He thinks everything about his darkness is beautiful.

Who knows, he may be right.

But I don't think so.

And it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all. He loves his darkness like nothing I've ever seen before - breathtakingly beautifully, but shaded with jealous possession and tinged with something like obsession. He's so caught up in himself that he doesn't have time for anyone else.

I hate it.

I would hate him - but I cannot. Not when Timmy loves him. Not when he loves Timmy.

I would have thought it a mere fancy, that this relationship was yet another toy for the dark to amuse himself with, but for the way he glows. Timmy shines like the summer moon, ethereal and gorgeous. Nega flashes like the scorching desert sun. To see them together is almost painfully exquisite. Burning shadow and dancing light - two halves of a whole.

That blessed radiance will never fall on another.

It seems selfish - such beauty and harmony savored only by those who create it. It seems chilling - they're so locked into each other they can't see anything else.

I remember the days when I was the center of his world, and I can admit that I am a little bit jealous. But then, I don't think I could handle the constant attention that those two lavish on each other.

They don't know how to be separate.

In fact, I think it's Timmy's worst nightmare.

I know he's woken up screaming from that same nightmare - he startled me out of a sound sleep, the sound was so high and inhuman. I leaped out of bed as best as I could, poofed into his room, - and found my godson sobbing brokenly in the arms of his darkness.

Timmy never even noticed I was there. Nega Timmy... he spared me an instant's glance, his eyes flashing strangely in the darkness, before turning his attention back to his distressed light.

I think my heart broke that night.

Unwanted.

Unneeded.

Who needs a fairy god father when you've found the other half of your soul?

Who needs friends when you've found the one who will never leave you?

Who needs the light when you've found your darkness?

Who needs love when you've fallen into it?

But when I see my godchild's eyes burning with that great, terrible need, it's the worst thing in the world when I realize that only one being can sate it.

I can't be happy for him.

I won't.

But they're my grandchildren.

I should love him, my Timmy and his other self... I should.

And I feel like a failure when I realize that I can't.


	4. Nega Timmy

He's asleep now.

He was watching me before. He fell asleep with head propped on my chest. He's so careless, sometimes, in his schoolwork and the like... not that it really matters. He was made for greater things.

My sweet little light... mine.

He worries for his god parents, I know. He will worry for his friends. He will worry for me - for what I could do. For what I could never do.

I did not fight eternity only to lose him now.

They will not understand - how could they? They know nothing of waiting forever and a day, know nothing of finally claiming their own precious savior.

No one can ever understand save those who were trapped in hell alongside me.

We all know. Fear and pain? Mere trifles against a larger ache. Try and block out the endless shadows and receive only mocking laughter in ruthless return.

Light is never so treasured as by those who have been blinded.

Try it. Try choking on the darkness until all you breathe is the night. Try wandering the endless pathways of your mind until days melt into years, and still all you can do is keep searching and pray for the darkness to vanish.

There are times when I must have been mad.

Rant and tear your hear and scream at the dank walls when only the echoes of your voice come back to haunt you.

Loneliness? Mere loneliness? Who would dare to name it such a paltry thing?

After an agony of waiting I scraped my way back into sanity and I will not allow anyone to take what I have found.

Timmy is mine.

Ever since he first drew breath he belonged to me.

A spark lit the endless shadows - wild and pure and untainted. And I - I who had been sleeping away the madness awoke with a cry.

Mine!

Sweet soft pretty thing, shining brilliantly in my darkness, a treasure more precious than anything ever had laid at my feet.

Such a delicate soul - a gentle warmth I had never felt. Purity that did not burn. I could only watch from afar, barely aware - but he lived. And now...

Finally.

Finally.

He's finally mine.

And he loves me with a wild madness one could not suspect in one so innocent.

Yes.

They can never understand. They are not worthy of him.

Could they drag themselves out from hell to be at his side?

And tell me, if they found him, would they love him until he drowned in it? Would they hold him unto eternity? Would they dare to claim him as their own?

How much would they give to possess him?

How many would they kill for his sake?

What would they sacrifice to lay at his feet?

How badly would they need him? How painfully could they desire him?

Would they be brave enough to face the madness? Would they be man enough to face his light? Could they dare to embrace that innocence, or would they be cowards alone?

How long could they torment themselves with denial? From the first moment they drowsy eyes were open? From the first time he saw their faces? From the first insant when he gasped their names? From the shy hesitance of that first, frightened touch? Or would they be lost when they saw his soul? Would everything vanish when they saw his eyes? How often would they dream of that first embrace? Could it ever come?

Answer that, darkness.

Take me if you can.

But don't ever think that you'll win.

Because he belongs to me.

I staked my claim on his soul and the gods be damned if they think they can steal him from me now.

Now and forever.

He's mine.

My light. My life. My soul.

Mine.


	5. Wanda

"Cosmo!" I call cheerfully as I begin dragging my things into the hall, "I'm back!"

A green head pokes out inquiringly from within the kitchen, and I wave cheerfully. "Morning!"

A warm smile graces his face. "Wanda! You're home!"

He trundles out into the hall and grabs my bags after giving me a rib-crushing hug, clearly intent on hauling them upstairs.

I grab one of the heavier pieces of luggage when he's not looking and follow him upstairs, laughing with him while he tries to act tough.

He tosses me an annoyed glance over his shoulder. "Oh, shut up," he scolds. I can't help but grin. I love being home.

"How's Timmy? Are his grades any better, I hope?"

A sad smile flits across my husband's face. "Not quite, I'm afraid."

I sigh and shake my head. "He'll fail this year if he doesn't get his act together."

Cosmo shakes his head as he deposits my things on the bed. "To be truthful, I can't say that he really cares about it."

I roll my eyes. "Of course not. His games and all his new friends come first, but he's never going to get in a good university by playing games."

Cosmo pauses and puts down the suitcase he was going to put away. Then he turns to me, and there's something strange in his eyes. "Sometimes... sometimes I wonder if he's even going to live long enough to think about that sort of thing."

I drop the pajamas I'm holding, sudden terror shooting down my spine. What the-? "Cosmo?" I manage to ask, feeling myself tremble. Timmy...?

Cosmo looks away. "Wanda... there's alot I haven't told you in my letters." He pauses, tugging thoughtfully at his sleeves. "Things that were better left undisturbed have been awakened - and Timmy is at the heart of it all."

"What do you mean?" I whisper numbly. It should sound just like nonsense... but Cosmo can be wise when he wants to be.

He sighs heavily. "I can't explain it all - even Timmy isn't certain. And that damn other of his-"

I seize on the oddest bit of that sentence. "Other?"

He glances at me, a deep frown curving his face. "Well, to begin with... no. Timmy is... no, that doesn't make sense either." He sighs deeply and shakes his head. "But... I think there's something you should see."

I just blink at him, puzzled, as he motions me to poof into Timmy's room. He poofs in first but then comes back for me.

"It's safe. Come on in and see what Timmy has been doing."

And with that, we both poof into the room. At first all I see is the room. Mostly neat, with a few random games scattered about and his book bag lying haphazardly against his desk. I frown at the carelessness - will he ever grow up? - and absently start inspecting the bookshelves, which have a thin layer of dust covering them.

Cosmo follows me and strides forward quickly, blocking my view of the bed.

"What you need to see is right here," he murmurs cryptically, tapping on the rumpled covers with a delicate finger.

I abandon my quest to see what my boy has been reading and walked over, feeling a prickling sensation run down my skin. Something is... strange about all this. Very, very strange, even for Cosmo.

Cosmo gives me a sad smile and steps deliberately out of the way.

My godson, my little Timmy, is lying sound asleep on the bed, wearing a set of pajamas that are covered in stars. Such an innocent little angel...

And then I realize that he isn't alone.

"Who is that?" It comes out as a whisper even though I feel like I'm shouting.

Cosmo rests a heavy hand on my shoulder and stops my hands from reaching out to tear my child away from the grip of this stranger in his bed. "Him?" My husband lets out a sardonic chuckle. "He's just a boy like any other. Just a child who was forced to grow up too fast."

"What is he doing with Timmy?" I mumble thickly, still staring. Black. All in black, bearing an uncanny resemblance to my godson - almost looking like a fallen angel.

There's a sort of quiet rage in Cosmo's voice as he replies. "Sleeping."

But why in Timmy's bed? "What's his name?"

Cosmo's hand tenses on my shoulder. "He has many, but Timmy just calls him 'Nega'."

"Nega?" Who would name a child 'Nega'? But... somehow... strangely... it seems to fit.

My husband snorts disgustedly. "The darkness to Timmy's light."

I don't understand. None of this makes any sense. Nothing at all. "Why does he look like Timmy?"

Cosmo almost snarls when he speaks. "Don't you remember that one day? When he made that awful wish? He is our godson's other half."

I blink dazedly and turn to look into his smoldering eyes. That doesn't make sense. Other half? "You don't like him?" I ask hesitantly, trying for a bit of normalcy. This isn't a good sign, nor is the fierce glower he's fixing on that boy.

"I hate him." There's so much venom in those three words that I'm taken aback. Cosmo's usually so gentle and carefree...

But still - if he hates him so much, why is he letting him sleep over? "Then why...?"

"Because!" he snaps, then pauses and lowers his voice, and the venom is gone, replaced by a kind of hopeless bitterness. "Because... Timmy loves him."

My heart freezes in my chest. He can't mean that - Timmy wouldn't... couldn't... "Timmy isn't... I mean, he's not..."

Cosmo shakes his head sharply. "He liked girls, before. Remember Trixie and Tootie? But..." he sighs heavily, waving a careless hand at the bed, "Now all he sees is this boy."

I can't believe that. I won't. Timmy is innocent. But I have to ask. "They're... dating?"

Another sigh, rich with disgust. "Much too mild a word for it. They're," he cringes, "Lovers."

No! "You can't mean that!" I blurt out, clutching my hand to my chest.

Cosmo just nods his head at the bed. "Timmy is... that overwhelming innocence of his - it's true, yes, but deceptive. I've seen the way they kiss. And besides - look at them. Can't you tell? They've slept together for at least two months now."

But... but... "But Timmy's only sixteen!"

The look of long suffering on my husband's face tells me all I need to know. "His darkness is... was only sixteen too."

The boy? "Was?" I glance back - well, he certainly seems quite normal, if uncannily similar to my son. He's breathing normally and looks like any other teenager who's sleeping away a Sunday morning.

Cosmo's expression turns cold. "It's not my story to tell. You'll have to ask Timmy, although I doubt he'll tell you the full truth of the matter. He hasn't even told me all that he knows, I'm certain of that."

"What truth?"

The coldness melts into a sad smile. "About him. About his darkness. About everything."

Everything? What's everything? And, "Why is he sleeping in Timmy's bed?"

Cosmo shrugs, going cold again. "Because Timmy is."

So he just sleeps over randomly? Strange behavior... "What about his family?"

"Timmy is all he has."

That poor child! "Is he an orphan?"

Cosmo hesitates. "Of sorts."

No wonder then, that he stays here. It makes a little more sense now, but is still quite strange. "Where did he come from?"

There's an odd solemnity on his face. "From the darkness of Timmy's heart."

I blink in shock. What did he mean? "How did Timmy meet him? He vanished after the wish had taken its toll."

Cosmo tosses his head back and laughs bitterly. "Destiny."

That's not an answer, but I have a dozen questions to ask. "Where does he live?"

Cosmo shrugs. "Here."

Here? "But the only other bedrooms are in our castle. Has he been living in there?"

Another shake of the head. "No. In here, with Timmy."

Huh? "But..."

"They share a bed," Cosmo points out unhappily.

But that still makes no sense! "And the rest? Two teenage boys in the same room always cause a huge mess!"

Father shrugs. "Nega-Timmy owns very little."

That makes sense, being an orphan, but even orphans have some precious items.

I still don't understand any of this! "What grade is he in?"

A snort. "He doesn't go to school, as such."

All right, so some teenagers don't go to school. That's all right, I suppose. "Where does he work?"

"He doesn't, as such."

This is making less and less sense as we go along. "What does he do?"

An odd half smile flits across Cosmo's face. "Terrible things. Wonderful things."

I'm completely lost now. "What do you mean?"

Cosmo shakes his head. "It's complicated. Only Timmy can explain... if he even knows how."

Timmy. I turn my gaze back towards him, noting the soft curve of a smile on his lips, the easy way he's cuddled up against the boy. "...he looks happy."

Cosmo gives a soft sigh of acknowledgment. "I know. And that's what hurts the most."

I'm so damnably confused. "What do you mean?"

Cosmo sighs deeper. "You'll see it eventually... they're beautiful together, aren't they?"

I blink. Timmy is sprawled out over the bed, head resting on this other boy's side, one arm tossed out to the side, the other threaded together with the other boy's. The other boy is curled up on his side around my godson, one slender arm caught in between Timmy's, the other lying protectively across his chest.

Beautiful? Timmy has always been a lovely child... but somehow I know that isn't what Cosmo means. Cosmo is thinking of the carelessly graceful contrast of milky pale skin against a deeper shade of gold, of the delicate way their shining bangs tumble over their dozing features, of twin messy crowns of ruby-touched obsidian and burnette hair, of the gentle feeling of endless comfort that seems to curl around them. Beautiful? Breathtakingly so.

"Yes..."

Cosmo shakes his head thoughtfully. "And yet so terrible at the same time."

"What do you mean?"

Cosmo's calm emerald eyes lock on mine. "You'll see, Wanda. You'll see."

Two sleepy teenagers tangled around each other? And one of them my favorite godson?

I bite my lip as I slowly exit the room, tossing an anxious glance over my shoulder. I don't want to believe Cosmo, but... he's sharing a bed with another boy, sharing an intimacy abandoned since early childhood with a boy his own age. He's so vulnerable like this...

Timmy, my godson, what have you done?

It's early afternoon, and my Timmy has finally woken up.

"Wanda!"

From the brightness of his smile and the tightness of his hug, I have to wonder if Cosmo isn't perhaps overreacting a bit. He's still my little boy, regardless of what my husband thinks he's doing. Isn't he?

That beautiful blinding smile flashes up at me - and I can't help but wonder what it is that he's been hiding.

If Cosmo knows, then why is the other boy not here?

But I don't ask questions, I just smile for him and help him get ready for his morning.

He's run into his bathroom for his shower.

I whirl around and pin a glare on Cosmo. "Where was the other one?"

Cosmo gives me a cool look. "Back in Timmy's mind, I guess."

What the hell? "Cosmo..." I growl warningly.

"You've noticed him talking to himself before, haven't you?"

I pause. "Yeah..."

He gives me a hard look. "That other boy is much more than just a boy. He's what Timmy was talking to when you thought he was talking to himself. He's what was making Timmy so distracted those many times. He's what got Timmy into this mess in the first place!" he slams a fist against the wall in frustration, and I jump backwards.

"What...?"

"Nega. Nega-Timmy. The darkness to Timmy's light. Call him what you will, that's what Timmy unleashed. And I hate myself for encouraging him to do it."

"Cosmo..."

He gives me a long, weary look and backs up. "Just ask Timmy to coax him out. He'll come, and then you'll see what he is."

"What is he?"

He pauses on his way out of the room, regarding me with a pensive, thoughtful air. "Everything that our beloved godson is not."

He comes out of the bathroom again, his pink hat on top of his head, dressed in black and pink and wearing a smile brighter than the sun, and I can't help but hesitate before I call him nearer to the bed.

He bounces in with his usual exuberance, and I can't help but feel that I'm going to utterly kill his mood. But still... "Timmy, Cosmo told me a little bit about what has been happening since the last time I saw you. He didn't give me any details, though, so could you...?" And I wave a limp hand hoping he would get it.

The strangest expression flickers across his face for a moment. He pauses and sinks down into a beanbag chair, biting his lip as he glances shyly over at me. Then he looks down a little before whispering something.

A flash of light - dazzling enough that I have to blink stars from my eyes, and now there's a slender arm draped carelessly over my godson's shoulder.

"Wanda," Timmy says softly, settling back against the beanbag, "This is my darkness."

And my godson's shadow gives me a sly smirk, ruby eyes gleaming with calm expectation from beneath long dark lashes.

...the child really is quite remarkably darkly beautiful. To be so close to my godson, and yet so completely his opposite... what must it be like, to live to contradict another?

Timmy's fidgeting uncomfortably, but hasn't made any move to shove away Nega's arm. The expression on Nega Timmy's face is completely impassive. Is he really as cold as Cosmo supposes?

Cosmo claims... but no, not my Timmy. Not my favorite godson. He's sixteen, and not of the disposition to... to sleep around, is he?

I can't help but eye his clothes. Timmy's always been fond of a style I don't much like, but maybe, just maybe...

"Wanda?"

And I paste on a smile and nod and greet the shadow child as if he were Timmy's new best friend, and tie down the sickness in my stomach and the slow terror that's begun gnawing at my brain.

It's been three days, and I've made my decision. That boy is the most bewildering creature I've ever met - next to my godson, that is, and it makes wonderfully wretched sense, doesn't it?

They click. Like halves of a puzzle, they click, but the puzzle would be better off left unsolved, the mystery better clouded, the darkness better without the light. The past should be dead and gone - not stirring from its slumber to wreak havoc upon the waking world.

And my godson stands at the heart of it all.

I would not wish to be him - yet in daily life he seems so ignorant of his destiny. But at times he seems so keenly aware of it - how can he live such a life? How can he stand it?

Timmy just shrugs when I pose the question to him over a quiet brunch. "I'm all right," he says softly, looking the other way. "We're just fine."

"Fine? How can you be fine?"

A soft, sad smile flits across his face, and I suddenly realize how quickly he's grown up. "You just don't think about it too much, or it could drive you mad. Chasing destiny down is no big thing when destiny comes knocking at your door every other Tuesday."

I take a calming sip of my tea and try to force down the uneasiness that sparks in my chest at his quiet acceptance. "That's it? No questions, no regrets?"

He frowns into his soup. "I didn't say that. There are a thousand things I should have done better, a million things I still don't understand, a billion questions that nobody knows how to answer. Even so..." he trails off into a contemplative silence that's very unlike him, and I wonder how often he's brooded upon it.

He's quiet and alone now, so I think it's safe - but I don't know how he'll react. Still, I have to try and convince him to leave the one person I think he loves more than anyone else in his world.

God, I hope I'm ready for this.

I take in a deep breath. "And what about your darkness?"

He blinks, startled, before an unconsciously guarded expression crosses his face. "What about him?"

"How does he feel about this?"

Timmy relaxes minutely and absently caresses his own sides, eyes going blank and thoughtful - oh damn, what if he uses that bond of theirs? Can Nega hear whatever Timmy does?

"He's... accepted his fate," Timmy murmurs slowly, "He wants to keep me safe. I guess... I guess that's all that really matters to him."

Ah. "So... he cares for you?"

A soft flush tinges his features, and he looks away shyly. "He's my other half, Wanda. He doesn't really have a choice in the matter." But embarrassment drips from his words, and they ring false.

"You know, I don't think Cosmo cares for him much."

Timmy bristles. "Nobody asked him to," he mutters sullenly, still looking away.

"Do you know why that might be?"

He gives me a suspicious glance from underneath his lashes. "Does it matter?"

Does it matter? Does the fact that you've been sleeping with a psychotic spirit matter? Does it matter that you've been slipping farther and farther away from reality? Does it matter that you only talk to Cosmo and I when we directly address you? Does it matter that I found you and your darkness nestled together on the couch at three in the morning watching horror movies when you had school in four hours? Does it matter that you're failing three classes? Does anything matter to you anymore?

"It matters when my godson is spending all of his time with a murderer!"

His head snaps up and his eyes flare with a strange light. "You don't know what you're talking about!" he exclaims, shoving the remains of his breakfast away.

"Don't I? You can't tell me he hasn't killed people before!"

"It was self-defense!" he snaps, spine straightening.

I can't believe this! "How is killing an innocent a defensive maneuver? Timmy, don't you understand? He's dangerous!"

"Don't you think I know? Don't you think I know that better than anyone?" he hisses venomously, eyes narrowing.

I don't think I've ever seen him this angry. I can fight fire with fire, Timmy. I will make you see sense whether you want to or not! "How many?"

"What?" he blinks, confusion swirling into the mix of indignation and frustration that fills his voice.

I slam my palm against the table and glare into his eyes. How can he still look so innocent? "How many people has he killed?"

"It doesn't matter!"

Timmy, are you insane? "Yes it does! He should be in jail!"

His slender hands are clenched so tightly around the edge of the table that I'm surprised it isn't cracking. "He was protecting me!"

Protection? "Does protecting you mean that he has to kill anyone who tries to hurt you?"

He leaps off the chair, meeting my gaze angrily. "To him it does! You don't know how he thinks, what he knows - you don't know what it's like for us!"

Us - again with the us. My godson is not an us! "You need to get away from him."

An expression of supreme disgust crosses his flushed face, and he recoils sharply. "No! God, what are you thinking? He's my darkness! I can't, and even if I could, I wouldn't!"

This is insane! "Look at you! Why are you defending him?"

"He's a part of me! Why are you attacking us?" he shouts back.

Oh, for the love of God! "Why do you keep saying us?"

"He's my soul mate! We're... we belong together, why can't you get that?"

"Why can't you understand that he's... not at all right! He's..."

"He's my other half," he says softly, abruptly undermining everything that I was attempting to say. "He's everything that finishes me. What's wrong with that?"

"...everything. Timmy, sweetie, he's all wrong for you. You have to know that."

"No. No, I don't know that. And neither do you. But I know what he's done," he whispers, low and brittle, voice catching. Unshed tears are gleaming in his eyes.

"How can you just agree with that?"

He slams the chair back against the table, and for a moment I'm stunned by the unconscious grace and ferocity in his movement. The delicate turn of his wrist, a light-footed leap, and already he's halfway across the kitchen and glaring at me from beneath rumpled brown bangs.

"You don't understand," he hisses, visibly tensing. "You don't and you can't ever. You never did before - so don't try now. Just don't!"

"I will not live under the same roof as that murderer!"

Timmy's back straightens and his lips firm as he draws himself upright, and I can't help but think of a vengeful angel standing on the edge of eternity, oddly bathed in the warm light streaming in from the living room. Heaven or hell?

His words are simple and concise when he does speak, and I get the feeling that others have stared down this expression and faltered.

"Then leave," he states quietly, and turns and walks out the door.

I can hear his feet pounding up the stairs, and then the slam as he shuts his door.

I slump back into the chair and run a shaking hand through my hair.

Oh God. I blew it.

Ten minutes later, I drag myself upstairs, intent upon throwing myself into my bed and sleeping away the rest of this nightmare.

But a raised voice rushes down the hallway, and I pause by the door leading to the outside of our underwater castle. I can barely hear Timmy speak.

"I can't stand it! I can't! It's bad enough with Cosmo, but now Wanda's going to get on my case about you! God, it's not like I asked for this, is it? Just because all of a sudden we..."

A soft, muted interruption, the voice a shade or two deeper than Timmy's. God, it's him.

"Oh, no! No no no! It's not you, you know it isn't, how many times do I have to tell you that? You're everything to me - oh, stop smirking. I know where you're ticklish."

Another inaudible mumble while my stomach falls to my feet.

"Eee! No fair! That's light abuse! I claim - oof! Nega! Off! Off! You weigh too much!"

Mutter. I don't want to think about what they're doing.

"Ha! Gotcha! Beat that, Oh King of Darkness! No tickling, do you hear me?"

A soft chuckle. ...he laughs?

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Timmy accuses, a smile in his voice.

A slightly louder chuckle.

"Still... what else did I expect? Understanding? From anyone? From her? I must've been dreaming..."

A pause, and then I can finally hear Nega clearly. "What's wrong with dreaming?"

There's a crystalline moment of quiet before Timmy's voice sighs, soft as a spring breeze, "When the dream doesn't come true. No, hush. Don't start. I won't let even you grant me that wish, my darkness. It's not fair. Not to her and not to me. Not to anyone."

"Anyone doesn't matter, my love."

"Not to you, no. Me... I keep trying to remember to reach out, but it's like groping in the dark, and I can't find you."

"You can always find me."

"Hn. You're distracting when you're all cute and snuggly."

"Hmm..."

"No, Nega... don't..."

A soft thud. Then, breathlessly, "Why not?"

Timmy giggles. "You're impossible! I- mmph!"

Soft rustling. Then a whisper, softer than a sigh, the words burning with a strange and terrible passion. The very words I never wanted to hear my Timmy say, said to the person I never wanted him to be anywhere around. Oh God...

"I love you... until the end of time, I love you."

A sharply indrawn breath.

"You know that, don't you?" Warmth as soft as home, as overwhelming as a blazing inferno. It's Timmy - just my godson, earnest and sweet. Just lost in someone else's arms.

"My light..."

I sneak through the door to the underwater bowl- why I do it, I can't say. And there... oh God, please, not my Timmy, that is not my godson, that is not Timmy draped so carelessly on top of that murderer! Those are not his fingers intertwined with the darkness, those are not his eyes locked on the boy beneath him, that is not my godson, it cannot be my godson because my godson would never sit on someone's hips and look like that. Not like that. Not so drowsy-eyed and not that beautiful. No. No!

Then he tilts his head until his bangs are brushing his Nega's face and the beauty melts into an allure that is not my Timmy's, and oh God no! Not my godson... not my godson...

And in that exquisitely painful moment before their lips meet for what can't be the first time, the shadow breathes a single word that sends a sharp chill down my back and leaves me quaking.

"Mine," he murmurs hungrily, curling his arms tightly around Timmy, drawing him down into an embrace.

Timmy, my sweet god child, just smiles gently, letting himself be pulled, letting delicate fingertips wind into his shirt, letting himself melt into lean arms. And then Timmy kisses his darkness with all the passion and devotion of a lifelong lover, and I realize what I've lost.

He's not my godson.

Not any more.

I go back in the castle on that tenderly sickening scene and stumble numbly down the stairs. They won't notice - they didn't notice it the first time.

Cosmo was right. He was right all along.

I lost him without knowing it.

He's not my godson anymore.

I can't handle walking down the rest of the steps, so I slide down the wall and bury my face in my hands.

What kind of a godmother loses her favorite godson? What kind of a woman cannot raise her own god child? What kind of a godparent cannot wrap her innocent godson in her arms and shield him from the tantalizing call of the darkness?

I failed. I failed somehow, and I didn't even know about it. And Timmy... Timmy doesn't need me anymore. He's found someone better than I or Cosmo could ever be... he's in love with the wrong boy, he's fallen into a trap, I'm sure of it. And it's my fault for not being there, it's my fault for not raising him right, it's my fault for not forbidding him from seeing the darkness.

My little boy is all grown up now. I have nothing left to offer him.

Useless. Worthless. And it's all my own fault. If only I had... no. You can't take back the past. Can't undo what has been done. Can't act on your regrets. You can't... can't...

Oh God, what have I done?


	6. All

-Wanda-

I have lost the person most precious to me.

The godson who had opened my eyes and warmed my heart with his love. My poor Timmy...falling prey to his darkness' strong embrace. I fear for him and so does my husband. But soon it will not matter, within a few years we shall be gone from his world and then there will be nothing to stop the darkness from claiming him.

I see in his eyes, the love he has for his other half. I know he loves him and that just makes it more painful to see how far he's fallen. He's falling...and he doesn't even care.

My husband is a wreck, always worrying about our godson. I knew he cared for Timmy, but now it's obvious what his true feelings are...it breaks his heart to see Timmy in the arms of another man. He silently cries every night knowing that he will wake up to see Timmy lying with someone else. He dies a little inside every time he sees our godson give away his love to someone other than him.

I myself am dying...

He hates me now, my beloved godson. I try to save him from the darkness but he pulls away, drawing closer to his darkness. He only cares for Nega now. He has no friends, his family barely speak to him, and he has no love for Cosmo and I, not anymore.

On that fateful day he yelled at us, screaming that he hated us...we both broke down, our hearts and souls shattered. He loves only his darkness. I've lost him...

...and now there's nothing I can do.

-Cosmo-

My heart is broken.

My soul torn asunder.

The pure innocent boy that I fell in love with is no more.

He told me himself that he hated me. He screamed and yelled it. That night I broke down and cried harder than I ever had. Tears streamed down my face in rivers, never stopping. Even now, months later, I still cry myself to sleep.

My love, my precious godson...is now lost within his darkness.

He's drowning in the love that Nega has given him, and I can't save him, because he doesn't want to be saved. He wants to drown, he wants to fall. He wants only his darkness and nothing more.

The darkness is taking over, and after we leave him, I'm afraid he'll die.

Timmy, my love, can't you see what he's doing to you?!

You say you're alive and in love, but really you're slowly disappearing! Soon you'll disappear for good!

...but you don't care do you?

Then I will have to put up with it no matter how much it hurts.

Everytime you embrace him, my heart will break but I'll ignore it.

Everytime you kiss him, I will cry but the tears will dry up.

Everytime you tell him you love him, I will want to die but I'll stay alive so I can try to protect you even though you don't want me too.

I love you so much, Timmy...

Did you never see it? It doesn't matter though, does it?

You're in love with your own darkness...

And there's nothing I can do...

-Timmy-

He loves thunderstorms. It's always the same - drowsy afternoons when there's nothing to do and business is slow, everyone else has things to do, and we're left all alone. Then the rain starts, falling down slow and silvery, and the faint rumbling in the air gets louder, and the sky grows dark and cold, and his eyes gleam with the brilliance of its fury.

He loves it.

He'll stand outside in the pouring rain, head tilted back, hair tumbling thick and dark over his shoulders, thick lashes closed tight, delicate face turned towards the heavens, water streaming down his beautiful form like a caress from a long-forgotten lover.

He's so beautiful like that - so beautiful it almost hurts.

Wild and careless and breathless with power - when he laughs dark as sin and the sky answers him, I can recall - just barely recall the light and darkness of millenia gone by - events lost in time, dispersed by those long years before my birth.

The young darkness stands defiantly on the concrete outside of my house and laughs to see the skies torn asunder by lightning. He was just as mad in those days as he is now... calm and cold and brilliant, but always restless and searching and hungry.

Sometimes I think he was looking for me.

He's dragged me out into the storm before - clasped my hands in his and drawn me tight against him, delight gleaming bright as rubies and gold in my mind. Come with me, don't leave me, I do it all for you...

When he's drenched head to toe and spinning me around and laughing like a child, when he's defiant and gorgeous in the face of the unheeded world, when he's warm and vibrant and flushed with passion in my arms - tell me, what is love? Insanity or something deeper?

He's kissed me beneath the roaring skies, slippery and wet, all hunger and brilliance and need drowned in the rushing downpour. While the heavens screamed above us, he's tumbled over me and held and kissed and petted me with a rush of fierce heat that blasted away the mere thought of cold.

The damned savior of the darkness's children, a thousand years and miles scattered in his unknown past, bright and dark as sun on gold and shadows, still desperately alive even though he has long since died.

When his mouth is sweet and frantic under mine, and his hair is thick and soaked and matted in my fingertips, and instead of cold all is humid and warm - what is need but for lust-tainted longing? What is possession but obsession-tainted need? What am I but madly in love with him?

Love...? Could you call it that? Could you call it anything?

We made love once, delicious and desperate, while the skies screamed above us. Tangled heat and crying - is that love or just insanity? Have we both lost what little chance we had at a normal relationship? Can we ever fall into line with what my family desires?

No. No, no, never.

From that first moment when his eyes and lips met mine, I've been lost. From that first slow joining I've been mad. From the first time he pulled me into the rain, I've been wild. It's beautiful and awful and shining and hungry and vicious, and gods help me but I refuse to ever stop.

Can you define madness? Can you define beauty?

Could I tell you that I am in love with my darkness?

To love my darkness, as he loves me...that is the fire that warms my soul when all else is cold. His touches, his kisses burn me but the pain is what is exhilarating...Am I in love? Or have I gone insane? I just don't really care anymore...

-Nega-

Don't defy the wilderness unless you can summon the power to laugh in its face.

Or unless you have an angel's soul.

I don't know who I am and I don't know where I'm going. What is nothingness but what I am? What have I been? Who have I been?

Perhaps I truly am insane.

Perhaps it doesn't matter.

Reality hangs by a fragile thread, but my reality breathes in only me. My precious one is silver and gold and bronze, sun and sky and air, heat and sweetness, sticky and velvet and sly.

Perhaps true madness would be to let go. But I can't, and I won't. Nothing will force my hand. Not darkness nor light nor evil nor death nor pain.

Nothing. I won my right in blood and tears and sweat that spilled over the darkness and a thousand areas near and far.

To defy my right is to defy my self.

Unallowable - and punishable by death.

Infringe upon my light and face your own madness.

But I am in love.

Taste the breath of dawn and the touch of your mother's hand - and that is the soft brush of his hair over my skin. Fight the endless shadows - and that is the wildfire of his passion. Scour the earth for a rare jewel - and such is the flash of his smile.

Call it what you will - but my soul rests at last within his.

A thousand scattered memories were lost in the dust of eternity, but I need them not.

I would slaughter a thousand armies just for a taste of his lips.

Call it, then, true madness, a true loss of self and of soul and of precious control. My beloved eases them all. What need have I for potions and magic? My power burns in my soul - and my soul's match gleams still brighter than I.

They are fools to long for the unattainable. The world is useless in the absence of light - and how do you live when your soul is dying? There is no recompense for the sins of midnight's children - save in the sleek touch of the children of dawn.

He is fair where my flesh is golden, soft and caring where I am harsh and cold, beautiful where I am terrible. What need have I for courtesans and artists when a soul as pure as he is mine to claim?

I found him in the shadow of the darkest hour, and claimed him in the heat of a gentle night. I am birthed of pure darkness and power - born to live and breathe and long only for his light.

Me? I am but a child still.

Eternity has not been gentle - but I cannot regret what I cannot remember, and the shadows of my past are ever-twisting and elusive. What haunts the corridors of my mind even I cannot say, even as the unknown ghosts slowly melt away when my light slips into the crevices of my maze and soothes the restless darkness.

What is yearning? When all that lies within me cries with need? When all that floods my shadows is his light?

If I am a fool, and a madman, I regret it not. I would drown myself in his soul to save my own - I would destroy myself to see him saved.

What more salvation have I need of than the sweetness of his body, warm and willing and beautiful, beneath my own? I took him in rain and sun and shadow - forevermore.

So tell me, what is love? What is life and light and everything rare and precious in this world?

Find the beauty in loving him when clasped in the embrace of heaven's fury. My light warms the rains and soothes the thunder.

Madness?

Craving.

Can I stop?

I will never stop.

Never.

He is mine. I am his.

And forever shall we be...


End file.
